Ghosts (Six Feet Under, 1)
by ReinikSociety
Summary: When Clint Barton accidentally kills a little girl in a fight with an enemy, the grip he has on his life starts slipping from his hands. Series. Contains adult content such as language, attempted suicide, etc.


Author's Note: Hello! This FF was made for IsaacClarkeX (here's the link to her profile: u/4763360/IsaacClarkeX) after drawing her request from a hat. (It's a really fun game if you want to encourage people to improve their writing skills. Also good for getting stories you want written, and writing stories for other people!). Moving on! Like I've said before, I make a lot of FF for entertainment I've never seen. This is one of them. Hope you'll R&R and enjoy! Now read!

P.S. If you don't understand some of the events in this FF, read the next few installments.

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I put the glass to my mouth. I feel the aroma of the whiskey touch my tongue, invigorating, yet disgusting.

_I've been in this bar for a while now. The bartender is starting to get annoyed with me for not leaving__,__ I know. But I can't stand it. How could that have happened? How could I let it get out of hand so quickly? _

I down the whiskey fast and hard and wave for another.

"Don't you think you've had enough, buddy?"

"I'll tell you when I've had enough, okay?"

He makes a face at me and hands me the whiskey. She was so young. There was no way I couldn't have moved a little faster, pulled the bowstring back a second quicker, blinked one less time. Maybe she would still be here. Maybe her mother wouldn't have made that face, that face nobody thought I saw. I put a fifty on the counter and head out. It's pouring and I don't have an umbrella. I feel the rain soak my clothes as I walk leisurely back to my place. I stop at a crosswalk and see a kid listening to his MP3 next to me. I stare at him for a few seconds and he looks back after a while, raising his eyebrows. I turn my sight straight ahead.

"Are you okay, man?"

"Mm."

"The light's red."

"Mm."

I don't even realize the kid is gone before some guy bumps into me. I start walking across the walk and think what it would feel like to be hit by a car. Probably bad. Just as bad as... No. I got to get home. I get home and don't even bother turning on the lights, the street lights are the only things illuminating the room. I don't bother cleaning the floor of the mess I made from the rain either. I fall onto my couch and look up at the ceiling.

"Oh, God, why?"

I start crying into my hands loudly. I get up and violently knock the lamp off the coffee table.

"Agghhhh! Fuck!"

I scream loudly until I run out of breath and my voice gives out. I hear a man yell at me to shut up. I look down and see the broken glass from the lamp. I start to pick it up and accidentally cut myself on one of the shards.

I see the blood run down my hand and it reminds me of her...

_I'm so sorry. I'm sorry! _

I pick up one of the shards and start crying again. I don't deserve to live any longer. Who am I to take your life? Your innocent life... I start slashing my arm, blood splattering onto my face.

"What have I done...?"

I feel too afraid to look down at my arm, but the pain forces me to. I see the mess I made and turn my head quickly around. I gag a bit from the immense smell of blood. I hear the blood dripping onto the floor faintly and I run to the bathroom. I turn on the light and get a better look at my wounds.

_Ugh, it's pretty bad._

I turn on the shower and take all my clothes off. I get into the shower and let the water engulf me. The smell of blood intensifies and the water stings my flesh harshly. After I finish, I get out and get dressed. I go over to the sink and look over my arm. It doesn't look so bad after it's been washed, I guess. I open the medicine cabinet and take out the disinfectant and bandages.

_I should probably go to the hospital, but I won't do that. _

After I clean up, I walk out and inspect the living room.

"What a mess..."

I start to clean the room up when I hear a knock at the door. I go over and open the door.

"Yes?"

But there was no answer. I stick my head out and look left and right, but no one was there. I shrug and shut the door. I turn around and scream. I see something so unbelievable. Right there stood her, she was staring straight at me with a saddened look in her eyes, crying.

"Why didn't you save me? Why did you let me die, Clinton? Did I deserve to die?"

"NO! I wanted to save you! But... But he was too strong and fast! He..."

"Excuses."

"No! What do you want me to say?! Huh?! Do you want me to die too?!"

But she disappeared without another word. I fell to my knees and started crying, hard.

"I'm sorry..."

I get up from the floor and walk to my bedroom. I don't turn the light on and I sit on the edge of my bed, the windows open and the curtains flowing slightly from the wind. I look over at my vodka on my nightstand. Next to it is my prescribed Vicodin. I take it for the daily pains I get from all the fighting.

_But... I can't possibly be thinking of that, could I? I... I don't deserve to live. I let her die! She didn't deserve to die! It should've been me, damn it!_

I rip the bandages off my arm and dig my fingers into the wounds.

"Agghh!"

I take a swig of vodka and grab the Vicodin, open all three bottles and quickly start swallowing the pills with the vodka. I start choking and coughing. I regain myself and continue. After I finish, I slowly lay myself onto my bed, staring at my star-speckled ceiling.

_Why did it have to be like this... Why didn't I think! I swear I didn't mean to! Please take me, God. Please..._ _I feel so weak..._

I slowly get up, wobbling, and walk over to my desk. I get out a pad of paper and pen. I write, and I try so hard, but my fingers are unsteady. I feel sick and turn to vomit onto the floor. I go back to the pad and see that I've only written a few things. I feel my vision is starting to fade and my mind numbing. I walk unsteadily back to my bed and lie down. I close my eyes.

_Can you forgive me for what I've done?_

_Can you forgive me__...?_

_**THE END**_


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